In a Meditative State
Tuesday evening logs on and zoom.......
itís the meditation session.
Mikeís smile is planted within a sepia bouquet.
Itís growing across a screen saturated
with a byting scent of broadband.
Drunk on a dayís adrenalin but still upright,
my legs are in no mood to pay attention.
Theyíre restless. I turn my back on them,
close the door and head upwards
but they hear me thinking about them
Iím in the little room below the roof.
Itís stuffed with everything I can bring to mind.
A space at the centre has found a chair,
it sees the window peering in as I release the latch.
Mikeís voice slides through
between the breaths he tells me to take.
My legs have kicked the door open
and the chair is sitting and waiting.
Weíre all here.
in a swinging
Why is it
If you have any
thoughts on this poem, Susan
Wilson would be pleased to hear them.